Another life
by TinkerbellReturns
Summary: Graham Humbert and Neal Cassidy meet in the afterlife. Both have already been granted permission to "move on" but apparently neither of them wants to. What they don't know is that their fates are somehow intertwined. Note: this is not a Graham/Neal shipping fic. Contains very little shipping, as a matter of fact, but when it does it is mostly Swanfire.
1. Chapter 1

**1\. Arrival**

 _Time is fluid here._

'No,' with a swift move of his feather, the gray-eyed man erased the first sentence of his... _biography_ , so to speak, for the twenty-seventh time.

Writing about time being fluid was beyond his capacities. He needed something more personal, more... _down-to-earth._

He giggled at that thought. Down-to-earth, of all things. _To Earth!_

He put the feather down and scratched his five-day beard, barely aware of the hustle and bustle around him. As the tips of his fingers touched the hair around his chin, he wondered how long had it been since he last shaved... After all, things were different where he was now - all those humanly chores looked millions of years away.

'And it might have been a million years since that day,' he pondered. How would he know, anyway? There was no more day, or night, or clocks, or minutes, or getting old, not there.

 _There was no more time._

"I am not beginning it with 'time is fluid here'," he muttered, as if fighting a stubborn voice inside his head while he picked up the feather again with a slight frown.

 _What happens to people when they die? Do they just... wake up somewhere else wearing white? Black? Red? Nothing? Do they still have a face, a voice, a name?_

 _Memories?_

 _Do we get another chance? A new life as someone else's child, or lover or is it... Is it just the end? A black screen without the credits, a last appearance, the definite exit from the world? Do you just cease to exist? Regardless of your good or bad deeds among the living, is death the place where we all meet? Or do we go to different places?_

 _If so, where? Why? What comes next?_

 _What happens when we die?_

 _I had always wondered what death was like... until the day it finally came to me._

 _And it was unlike anything I had ever expected._

At last, a beginning he was happy with. He put down his feather, this time allowing a smile to curl his lips as he looked at the words in ink before lifting his eyes to the huge screen ahead of him.

And if he still had a heart, it would have skipped a beat the moment he finally understood the scene it was showing.

"How did this happen?" he whispered, after standing up and approaching the tall woman wearing a leather overcoat.

She, however, remained silent, her jaw clenched so tight it seemed on the verge of breaking.

"Did his name show up in the missions?" he asked, eyes still glued to the familiar face of a woman he had never forgotten. "Did we miss it?"

"No," answered a boy, who was staring at another screen filled with millions of names that kept rolling in and out of sight. "I haven't blinked. There hasn't been a request for help."

"Bracelets?" the older man asked, his voice quiet as he again searched for the eyes of the woman next to him.

But again, there was no response. If anything, he had better chances of receiving an answer from a statue.

The boy shook his head.

"Nothing."

And then, all eyes in that room were fixed in the exact same people.

Emma Swan, amidst trees and rocks, holding Henry's father in her arms as life left his body.

"This cannot be," said the woman, her voice no louder than a whisper. "It canno-"

She was interrupted by a loud beep and the announcement of an angelical female voice.

 ** _"Individual detected in the Arrivals lounge."_** ** _  
_**  
"Well I'll be damned," said the boy, raising an eyebrow with the shadow of a snicker on his lips. "Baelfire is no more."

"How did this happen?" asked the woman, her fiery green eyes wide open as she turned to look at the man by her side. " _How?_ Regina Mills breaks a nail and her name pops up in multiple requests for help. My son is dead and his name didn't even flash on that screen, _why?_ "

"I don't know," answered the man, and he meant it. "I don't make the rules. Maybe his name showed up somewhere... only, not in our district."

"His name belongs in our district," the woman hissed, her face contorted in a most unusual display of anger.

"You can't tell for sure."

"Oh, please, Graham. I have seen his life since he was nothing but a kid. Every time he was helped, he was helped by the ones in this room. I saw the moment his eyes closed, he was _alone._ "

Her last word seemed to echo across the crystal white hall, reverberating in each and every wall and forcing its way into their ears, and souls.

"Yes, alone," said the boy, after crossing his arms. "And as you two argue, he is waiting outside."

Graham Humbert had yet to open his mouth to speak when Milah cut him short.

"You should go get him."

"Me?" he exclaimed. "He doesn't even know who I am. Milah..." he took a step closer to the woman before continuing. "He should be welcomed by a familiar face, someone he knows, someone he l-"

"I can go."

It was the boy's turn to butt in.

"Why not?" Pan went on, returning Milah's glare with a smirk. "I'm his grandfather, after all. And now that his mother will let him down again…"

"Well, I'm a familiar face too..."

The three heads turned to look at the other woman that had showed up behind them.

"See?" snorted Pan. "It's either me or Tamara, at least I didn't shoot him."

"Graham, please…" Milah whispered, and her eyes were so full of panic that he really had no choice.

He shook his head, feeling sorry for the poor fellow that had just joined them.

"You know that sooner or later he'll see you all," he said.

"Yes, but it doesn't have to be now," Milah responded. "Please go get him."

And so, he did.

From the looks of it, Neal Cassidy was not going to catch a break even after his death.


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. State of Ultimate Relevance**

He felt he had been sucked into a tornado.

It was almost like falling through a portal, a feeling he knew far too well. It was _almost_ like it… _Almost_. Except that this time around, he knew he was not going to land anywhere anytime soon.

It felt different, as if his soul had been disconnected from his body, and only the first was taking that journey. That vortex, unlike so many others, was not filled with images and lights and sounds. Instead, it was quiet and lonely, and when he finally stopped falling, he knew that had been his last trip, the final destination.

He knew, even before opening his eyes, that he was _dead_.

Despite being curious about his whereabouts, he remained silent and still, allowing his eyes to continue shut. Unless he was very wrong about everything he had ever heard about being dead, there was no rush - he would have plenty of time from now on.

The sound of a door opening somewhere behind him, however, brought him to a sitting position. He looked around for the first time, and whatever it was he was expecting to find, that was not it.

Apparently, he had landed in a deserted version of the John F. Kennedy International Airport, Terminal 4.

At least, that was what the sign above his head indicated.

"An airport?" said a male voice behind him. "Very interesting."

"How… What?" muttered a very confused Neal Cassidy, hand raised as he pointed at the escalators ahead while at the same time turning around to see who had just talked to him. "Is… Why… Where _am I?_ "

"In the afterlife," answered the man, hands shoved in his pockets as he looked at him.

"So I'm dead?"

"Out of reach for the living, yes."

Neal winced. It was too much information, too soon, for him to make any sense of it.

"Isn't that the _same thing?_ " he asked.

"Not exactly. But you'll see what I mean later on."

The man let out a compassionate smile. For a split second, Neal thought of asking the stranger if he was one of those angels people used to talk about in the Land Without Magic. He changed his mind, though, upon realizing the man had no wings of any kind – not to mention that in the stories he had heard, angels wore no vests or ties, nor had a golden sheriff's badge pinned to their shirts.

"Who... Who _are_ you?" Neal asked, unable to hide his bewilderment.

"My name is Graham. Some people knew me as the Sheriff of Storybrooke, others..." he paused, "… as the Huntsman."

"Oh…" Neal replied, nodding slightly as if things made more sense now, even though they didn't. "So you're from the Enchanted Forest too."

"Yes."

"And from Storybrooke. So you were cursed?"

"I was."

Neal nodded again, trying to avoid the next question that came to mind: ' _and what the heck are you doing here?_ _'_

"Nice... to meet you?" he said instead. "I'm-"

"Neal Cassidy," Graham interrupted. "Henry's father and Emma's former boyfriend. Also known as Baelfire, son of Milah and Rumplestiltskin."

The thorough description of his immediate family made Neal stop in the middle of another polite nod.

"We know who you are," the man concluded.

" _We?_ " asked Neal.

"There are more of us. People who passed. Many more."

"Anyone I know?"

Graham responded with a quick raise of his eyebrows and a sympathetic smile.

 _Of course he did._

"Oh…" Neal whispered, probably for the tenth time since they had met.

"Yes, you know quite a few of them."

"And they're _here?_ "

"They are."

Again, Neal couldn't help but wince, this time rubbing his eyes.

"I don't... I'm not sure I understand what this place is," he said. "Why am I in the JFK? Is this the JFK? What _is_ this place?"

He saw the other man scratch his beard, his eyes fixed on the ground as he spoke.

"The arrival lounge is a changeable space. It adapts to a person's references, to make the transition less… _traumatic_ , probably."

"But the JFK, of all places?" Neal whimpered. "My first job scrubbing toilets… not the most pleasant 'reference' I can think of."

Graham shrugged, which made him realize that for someone that had just died, all that talk about airports and toilets was incredibly frivolous. He was convinced, however, that _exactly because he had just died_ , any topic would be better than remembering everything and everyone he had just left behind.

He lowered his eyes to his legs, and noticed that something else was _very wrong_.

" _What?_ Wait…" he muttered. "This is _not_ what I was wearing when I died!"

He got up with a start, nearly tripping over his own feet as he studied his reflection on the dark surface of a Le Grand Comptoir sign.

 _"_ _What the_ _…_ _!_ _"_ he exclaimed, staring at his twenty-something face.

"I call it State of Ultimate Relevance."

"State of _what?_ " asked Neal with a frown, still marveling at the rejuvenating effects of being dead.

"Ultimate relevance. The moment of your life that really mattered," Graham explained, solemnly. "The moment when everything in your life made sense, you know? Like... an epiphany?"

"Ah... ok..." Neal said in response, as he tried to retrieve the corresponding memories to said moment. "Then... why not call it... _epiphany?_ Easier to remember."

"I don't like the word," responded the sheriff, with a careless shrug. "Sounds like some sort of electrical malfunction."

"I see..."

Perhaps for the first time since getting to that place, Neal took a moment to study Graham's complexion, and wondered how long that man had been there, in the afterlife. But soon enough, such thoughts were replaced with memories of a certain person, a certain place, certain _moments..._

"Well... Yes. Yeah..." he smiled, as once again he allowed his mind to travel to his old bug, to crowded parks, to the arms of the only woman he had truly loved... "I remember that day. How long ago? 12 years? Yeah..."

He took off his jacket, paying very little attention to what he was doing.

It was only when he looked down at his chest that he realized the jacket was still there.

He blinked, and took it off again.

But apparently, either he was wearing more than two jackets, or that single jacket was not going anywhere.

" _What..._ _"_

"Those are not real clothes," said Graham, trying to hide his amusement. "It's just a projection of your living self."

"So that's what I'm gonna wear for eternity?" Neal asked. "Shabby khaki pants and sweatshirt? At least the jacket is not that bad..." he whispered, noticing a hole in one of his old boots.

"Soon enough you will no longer notice them."

Neal kept studying his clothes-that-were-not-actual-clothes. Again, he was happy to find superfluous matters to focus on.

"So...what is your epiphany?" he asked Graham, in a feeble attempt to keep the conversation going. "I mean, your moment of... ultimate relevance?"

"The moment I died," was the response.

 _So much for small talk._

"Oh."

"Well... a little before that, actually," Graham corrected, some unease showing in his tone of voice. "The one time Emma and I shared a kiss."

"Emma? You mean..."

"Emma Swan."

Neal could hear the rimshot echoing in the background. Soon enough, the audience – if there was one - would burst into laughter at his expense. Sounded appropriate, to have one of Emma's ex-boyfriends to welcome him in the... afterlife, or whatever that place was!

"Right..." Neal said, faking a smile as he tried to play cool. "Yeah. Mine was something like that, too."

"Much more than that, I imagine," answered Graham, hands still shoved in his pockets as he showed his counterpart what 'cool' really meant. "When Henry was conceived, perhaps?" said the man, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Or a... _similar circumstance_ , if you know what I mean."

Neal knew _exactly what he meant_ , and if there was one thing he did not feel like talking about – not to one of Emma's ex-boyfriends, at least! - was his sex life.

"That... is a very personal question."

"And embarrassment is a very mundane feeling," Graham replied, his tone of voice still serene and friendly. "But you will get over it eventually."

Seeing how composed the man was despite the absurd context of that conversation, seeing his model-like demeanor, his elegant attire, and his… impeccable attitude, not to mention the fact that _his moment of relevance in life was sharing a kiss with Emma_ , made Neal realize that all of a sudden he didn't like Graham at all. _Not one bit._

"No," he muttered, as a rush of memories came to his rescue before he wallowed in jealousy.

"What?"

"Actually... My moment of relevance was not when Henry was conceived or _any similar circumstance_ ," Neal said with a smile. "I wish I had spent more time with him, by the way. I feel I never got to be a decent parent…" Despite his words, his thoughts were years away, long before Henry even existed. "It was before Emma and I... before we even kissed."

He could see and feel everything in detail, images rolling before his eyes as he narrated them to the man by his side.

 _She was sleeping in the backseat of our car and it was the 4th of July. We had seen the fireworks at the park and eaten a decent meal for the first time in days. And she had laughed so much that night that when she fell asleep her lips were still curled in a smile, and that moment I knew it... I knew I had found-_

"A purpose," Graham interrupted.

" _Home_." Neal concluded, before a sad smile took him back to his last moment alive. "I'm under the impression I suffered the most stupid death," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not wounded. I was not shot, stabbed, poisoned, my heart was not _ripped out of my chest and crushed_ ," Graham seemed to wince at that particular part, but he kept going. "I was not run over by a car or a bus or a train or a... horse, whatever... I did not have a heart attack, I wasn't sick, I didn't drown, didn't burn, was not old enough to die of natural causes, I just... died," he paused. " _Poof._ Out of nowhere."

"You brought back the Dark One," Graham reminded him. "I wouldn't call that "out of nowhere". You died by magic."

"I did," he said, his eyes almost as distant as his voice. "I died... _by magic,_ of all things! How ironic is that?"

He gave a mirthless laugh. This time, there was no response, so he continued.

"Magic… I always knew it would end badly," said Neal. "But somehow... This is not how I had envisioned it."

"Probably nobody envisioned it," Graham replied. "We were all shocked."

And then, they both were silent. The thoughts Neal had tried so hard to avoid during that conversation were finally threatening to drown him.

"Come," said Graham, his voice loud and more energetic than before – a welcome distraction Neal was incredibly grateful for. "I will show you how this place works."


End file.
